Nobody
by Griffinmon
Summary: Little Nemo Nemo, older but yet to be wiser, who has long been away from the relief of Slumberland, grieves the loss of his best friend, Icarus. Philosophy and memory ensues.


**A/N:** Well, after raising three kittens (Tavis and Gan littermates, and The Cricket, respectively), a minor DDR obsession,and a sudden, massive downpour of homework (which, ironically, is occurring _now_, again), I've finally finished this piece that's been sitting in my folder for a long, long time. If I hadn't found the Little Nemo DVD at Suncoast, I never would have written this, so thank you X'Hal for my discount card and the random people who drag me to the mall.

**Disclaimer?**: Why, yes. I don't own Little Nemo or related names – those are all Ray Bradbury's, who is one awesome writer (will a meek "I love you" relieve whatever hatred may come of this infringement upon your copyright?). The philosophy, however, does indeed seem to be mine—it occurred long before I watched _Waking Life_, which, coincidentally, is also a freaking awesome movie (much like Little Nemo, but trippier and with more sound proof).

**Summary?**: Little Nemo Nemo, older but yet to be wiser, who has long been away from the relief of Slumberland, grieves the loss of his best friend, Icarus. Philosophy and memory ensues.

**Notes?**: X'Hal, Nemo is _so_ out of character. shakes head slowly Camille's not too shabby, though. But as a minor (read: staring you in the face) side-note, the stuff in italics is basically a monologue I dreamed up that occurs between Camille and Nemo before Nemo "wakes up" (analogy to adulthood, fool). Warning! Best read when wired, drunk, or hallucinating, preferably when _not_ wanting to be cheered up.

_with love, from Griffy_

**Nobody**

_We live in darkness, Nemo. Nothing can change that. You slumber in the night, and night is the house of dreams, where your heart beats free of your chest and flies to the Beyond. But night is synonymous with the darkness – even when you defeated the Nightmare King, we remained encased within the night. We do not pretend to be separate from the night – we are the night. We are dreams. Your dreams._

_Whether the King is dead – of either land – matters not. We are one and the same, the defining line is you. Your perception of us makes us what we are. You call us Dreams, so we are that. You call them Nightmares, so they are that. That is why we need you, Nemo. That is why you are here._

I buried Icarus today.

_Can you feel me, Nemo? Dreams are real, you see, but they are not your Reality. Come here as often as you like, Nemo, it will make no difference. I will be here, for you, with you, but you can never be Here. Don't torture yourself, Nemo. I love you, you know that, but this is your Dream, and no more._

He was my best friend. My God-damned _best friend_.

_It's amazing, don't you think? It doesn't matter how close we become – it will never be enough, will it? Do you know why? It's because you're afraid. You think you're going to wake up, and we'll never see each other again. Do you know why you fear such a thing, Nemo? Because it's true. Someday, you will wake up. Someday, you will leave us all, and I will never see you again. No, don't apologise. It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. This is how it was meant to be. This is our Fate._

I never thought… I never thought he would die. He… we were immortal. We were dual musketeers, that squirrel and I. We did everything together, and more. We _dreamed_ together.

I've been sleeping more lately. If I dream, I don't remember. I used to dream; used to dream about a lot of things. There was something in particular… something wonderful – I don't remember what it was, though. I wish I could. I'm positive it was that dream that Icarus and I always shared.

Times have changed. Everything's changed.

God, I can't stay here. I need to go out, get some air. I need to think.

_No, I don't want you to go, but that is not my choice to make. Perhaps, though – perhaps, after you are gone, we will still meet again. Fate is fickle, correct? Then maybe she does not wish to fully separate us. Perhaps this is merely the beginning._

_True, that is not always the case. True, I may truly never see you again. However, so long as I exist in your mind, I will have hope. Nemo, it is up to you. Never forget us. Never forget me, and maybe – just maybe – I'll see you again someday._

_Yes, it's silly. I know. I don't care._

The streets are empty. It's evening – I didn't even realize… God, my head hurts. I can't think straight. Icarus – I miss him – so much…

I walk straight into someone. We stumble apart, but I'm too preoccupied with my own aching thoughts to mutter anything more than a garbled apology. She turns on me, yells something. I can't bring myself to care.

Whatever she's saying, she keeps saying it. I try to walk on, but she pulls me back, towards her. When I finally look up, the first thing I see are eyes – blue like the skies of the dreams I used to have, and I mutter something.

Camille.

But I don't know what it means. She only glares at me; berating me, I think, with her eyes.

Such blue eyes.

She calls me a no-body.

I tell her yes, that's right. I'm Nemo.

She looks at me – after what I just said, I think that's all she can do. She stares for a long while, in a space of time that can't be measured with tools. It lasts the eternity that I stand there, before she says again in a voice that I feel is filled with something I haven't felt since the days when I never slept because my soul – my wandering spirit – was always awake.

Nemo, she says. Nemo.

But I walk away. She doesn't try to stop me again. My walk becomes a run; I'm fleeing, now, but from what I can't tell. From myself, probably. I'm running fast as I can, but nothing follows. My run fades into a crooked gallop, which fades into a sad jog, which fades into a single stumble that plants me on my face on the sidewalk.

And I cry and want to wake up.

God, I want to wake up.

Please let me wake up.

I just want to—

_It's so easy, for one to hate something they only felt love for previously. They're interconnected, love and hate, you see, just like dreams and nightmares. It would be all too simple for you, Nemo, to begin to think 'Oh, this isn't good at all,' and I would immediately become a Nightmare in your mind, and you would hate me as you do all your nightmares._

_Oh, I know you don't think that of me. Not right now, anyway. If I vexed you, I apologise. I didn't mean to insult you. But I'm sure you understand their link? One cannot survive without the other – yes, you destroyed the Nightmare King. I know. I was there. But you only destroyed their King – not the Nightmares themselves. Had you done so, you would be destroying all your dreams, good and bad, and a dreamless life is disengaging. Why? Because _I'm_ not there, silly._

Jazama pajama… pajama…

I don't remember. I can't remember… I said it once, said something great, did something wonderful, and now I can't remember it.

It hurts to remember, because every time I try, I see Icarus. He was there; I know he was, because he was always with me, even in my dreams.

There was a key… and a door. There was something bad. I promised…

I promised to protect something, something that was precious to everyone, and now I don't even remember what it was.

Jazama…

It's there, I know it is.

I roll onto my back. I said the words once upon a midnight dream, and for so long they were gone from all memory, but I can feel it beginning to reemerge.

Jazama pajama pajama… shimera…

_Oh, Nemo. I'm so sorry. I've depressed you so. Enough talk of this, there are happier things to be discussed. You are, after all, my father's heir to the Slumberland throne. We'll need to be married—_

_You mean you don't remember?_

_Oh._

_It's that miscreant, isn't it? That horrid little man, he distracted you, made you forget about the arrangement. Why, I'll— oh, all right. I'll forgive him, but only for you, Nemo. But if you must know, he is _my_ version of a Nightmare, that damned Flip._

_Oh dear, I'm afraid we're running low on time. But, I suppose we always have been. I don't mean to return to such an unhappy matter, but I've always worried, Nemo. That you'd leave, and never return. That you _would_ forget, about my father, about Slumberland, about _me

_I'm sorry. I need to stop thinking like this... but it worries me so._

_Nemo, promise me. Promise me that you'll never forget. Do you promise?_

_You do?_

_Oh, Nemo, thank you. I feel so much better._

_Indeed, let's talk no more of this. We must—I know! Let's hold a celebration. It will commemorate—er—memory! Yes, it will honor the memory of Slumberland's brave hero and future king. How do you like that, Nemo? We will commence preparation immediately—_

_No? Well, alright. I suppose being together is enough. We'll celebrate anyway, though, just you and me. How's that?_

_Good. Your happiness is more valuable to me than any party, Nemo._

I laugh, and cry, and quietly recall the words that had been so deeply ingrained into my memory that I had forgotten them.

Jazama pajama pajama shimera kazam imera imera…

I have to stop my invocation because I'm laughing too hard. I don't know why, either. It just comes, spilling forth in hysterical waves, drawing tears as it does.

The scene must be absurd to the people passing by – me, rolling on the ground, laughing like a maniac and reciting a load of drivel that I learned in a dream.

But the laughter fades and the tears remain. I lie on the street, sobbing, croaking the names of things I no longer can remember and the promise I broke.

Flip. Morpheus. Professor. _Camille_.

A passer-by stops and asks me if I'm all right, if I need medical assistance.

I extend a finger towards him, and recite:

Jazama pajama pajama shimera kazam imera imera kazam pajama shimera kazam pajama, PA_JA_MA!

And then I burst into another bout of uproarious laughter.

I think the man is insulted, because he turns swiftly and walks away.

Once he's gone, all I can do is cry again. It's not as bad this time; I rise to my feet and begin walking with a lame, odd sort of lope. The tears have dried, and my own silence descends upon me.

I trip, collapsing on something quite familiar. Two long steel tracks running parallel to each other, ones I know span a giant measure of land. I sit there for several minutes, uncaring, staring at a beetle making its way over the gravel beneath the wood beams.

I used to play with toy trains, when I was little and in my dreams, as well.

Icarus loved them, too. I'd let him ride on my little electric set for hours and hours; he would chirp and chatter, like he were laughing, calling for more. We loved all the same things, Icarus and I.

But the name brings a pang of sadness to my chest. I miss that squirrel so much that it hurts. I never made many friends in school – I was too eccentric for my classmates. I'd rant and rave about things I didn't know I knew, things I probably dreamed, philosophy of nightmares and etiquette I never learned in waking life. I claimed I was heir to a throne that didn't exist. They laughed, but I knew better.

Dreams _were_ my life. I became so consumed in my sleep that I don't think I ever took the time to properly live. I sped through the daylight hours on the off chance I could get more sleep if I hurried, that I'd have more time to _dream_.

I never saw the headlights.

_"Oh, Nemo. You've changed so little! Still our adorable prince, I see. Are you here to stay, Nemo?" Camille greets me with the same nonchalance she's always had; she hasn't changed at all, in fact._

_I smile brightly and run to her._

_"I'm so glad you've remembered your promise! Surely you will not leave _me_ again? I do miss you so when you're away."_

_"Ah, Nemo, m'boy!" Professor Genius enters the room unexpectedly. "You're back, eh? Good, good. Just in time for your lessons."_

_"Not today, Professor!" Camille gently removes Genius' hand from my arm. "We'll be spending today together, if you don't mind. We have much to catch up on."_

_The mustachio scholar gave Camille sheepish grin, tipping his grand top-hat politely at me. "Very well, Princess. I'll leave you and the boy to your devices, and inform King Morpheus of your arrival."_

_"A celebration, Professor, at once!" Camille proclaimed. "Nothing less than absolute grandeur! Tonight, nothing will be good enough for our returning prince of Slumberland!"_

A/N: Tell me _that_ wasn't depressing! ((does the happy jig of homework procrastination)) Sweet mother of Freddie Mercury, this one's been in the backburner for a while. It started quite brilliantly, so I decided to finish it so I wouldn't have to do any of my art projects (due on Monday—pah! I laugh in the face of deadlines), much less my history (interview? INTERVIEW? What grade are we _in_, fifth? Might as bloody well make me illustrate the Cuban Missile Crisis while you're at it! I could at least do _that_!) or English (… surprisingly, I'm actually not vexed at all by this) or math (who needs conic sections? Not me!). Anyway, reviews are quite welcome. I will now commence panicking because I only have one day to do any of this, and it would seem that the stuff's ganged up on me. So, I'll leave you to the little blue box whilst I do battle with my algebra.


End file.
